


Carved in Stone

by suchanadorer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, F/M, Prompt Fill, Pygmalion, SRS 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/4895.html?thread=145183#cmt145183">Prompt at SRS:</a> <i>Pygmalion, king of Cyprus, was extremely dissatisfied with the vain and loose women of his kingdom. Instead of seeking a mate, he spends his time carving from marble his ideal woman, whom he lovingly refers to as Galatea. At a festival honoring Cyprus's patron goddess Aphrodite, he prays for a wife like his statute. Aphrodite is charmed by his devotion. When he returns to his home, he embraces the marble to find that it returns his hugs. Aphrodite has granted him his wish — Galatea is alive.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Carved in Stone

Ash sighs and steps back from his work. The women looks down at him with soulful eyes. Her curls (he imagines they are golden) fall artfully down past her shoulders in a loose tumble. She is wrapped in a shawl that she clutches with long, slender fingers, one one foot peeks out from under her gown.

“Oh, Jo,” he says, brushing dust from his forehead, “will you ever be mine? Will I ever find a woman in this city who possesses your virtue?”

He reaches up to caress her cheek with his hand. Her skin is smooth and unblemished, but it is also cold and unforgiving marble.

Ash turns away, collecting his tools and the cloth he keeps on the floor while he works. Jo has been his project for months now, occupying all his free time.

Time, he is assured by his advisors and family, that should be spent searching for a wife to bear him an heir.

Ash has tried. He has walked the streets of the city alone and surrounded by guards, dressed as himself and in disguise. All this in search of a woman befitting a king. He longs for a maiden who will care for him as a person rather than a king. Too often have women greeted him with the glint of gold in their eyes, already planning how they will use his wealth and title to satisfy their own desires. They flatter themselves endlessly, or throw themselves at any passing man when they are in search of companionship.

The king had tired of the work of it and began to retire to his garden to drink wine and carve. He ordered a block of the purest, whitest marble that could be found, and there in the sunshine and the rain he sought her, buried deep within the rock. With every chip that fell away, his heart grew. He imagined her face, her body, her laughter, and he fell in love with the girl that emerged from the stone.

She was perfect, but she would never be able to take his arm and walk beside him, or join him at a feast. He was forever doomed to admire her here in the garden and nowhere else.

“Sir,” comes a voice from the doorway. “The festival will be starting soon. You have to prepare.”

He sighs again and turns away from Jo, who continues to look on with infinite patience. Sam means well. He is the most understanding of those close to Ash. Dean has only recently stopped bringing women to meet with him, despite Ash’s protests. More often than not, they wind up more interested in Dean than in him, which he understands. They are fickle creatures, attracted to his strong jaw and broad shoulders.

 _Not like my Jo,_ he thinks to himself.

He bathes and dresses in his finest clothes, edged in deep purple. A gold crown of laurel wreaths sits upon his head. He smiles, waves, and does his best to appear to be in high spirits. He is beloved on the island, regarded as a fair ruler who does cares for his people. This festival has been organized to give thanks to Aphrodite, but also for Ash to give thanks to his people for their love, and for them to give thanks to him.

It’s the warmest part of summer, and the festival begins at sunset. There is wine and song, breads and fruits and oils provide a wonderful and aromatic feast. People gather around the temple, bringing their families and loved ones to join in the celebration. There are toasts, and speeches. Ash wishes his people continued prosperity, a good harvest, and safety from potential dangers.

As the evening continues into night, people leave the festival to return to their families and friends. Ash’s closest companions remain, but break off into small groups. There under the stars they talk and drink, sing or engage in more intimate activities. Ash watches, alone, imaging that his love was real and there beside him.

No one notices when he takes his chalice of wine and slips away, following the winding path up to Aphrodite’s temple. The stairs are covered with offerings that he carefully steps over as he makes his way inside.

The center is lit with torches in honor of the festival, and for a moment he simply stands and looks up at the ceiling.

“Beautiful Aphrodite, thank you for all that you have given me and my people. We love you, and under my command we have given you this festival to celebrate your beauty and your love.”

He starts with confidence, but finds now that his voice shrinks and falters.

“I have never asked for anything. You have always been generous, giving my people prosperity and giving me enough riches and power to guide them wisely. But I am lonely. The women of this place do not entice me, neither in mind nor in body. I long for a virtuous woman, with eyes that gaze on me as no one else, and a heart greater than all my lands.

“I have been a fool,” he continues. “I have carved my perfect wife in marble. She stands in my courtyard, but she lives in my heart. I love her, but I can never have her.”

He pauses, drawing a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “I would pray that you find a way to give me my Jo, or a woman who is her equal in every way. I do not know how I can love someone so much when I have never met her, but I do, and now no other woman will suffice.”

Ash pours his wine out onto the floor as an offering. He stands for a moment in silent contemplation again before turning and leaving the temple.

Dean meets him on the path back to his home. He is embracing two dark-haired women. Both are young and comely, undeniably attractive, but they only have eyes for Dean. He grins when he sees Ash.

“Would you like to join us?” He calls as Ash walks past them. “We were going to go watch the ocean.”

There is sincerity in his offer, but Ash doesn’t even respond. He wants as little to do with those women as they will want to do with him. He continues on until he is back in the comfort of his garden.

Moonlight spills into the courtyard and his beloved statue appears to all but glow. Ash leans against a pillar and watches her. He would give all his riches, all his power, years of his life if only she would move. He is doomed to spend the rest of his days in the company of a woman who is forever split in two. Her body is here before him, formed in stone, but her perfect spirit exists only in his heart and mind.

Overcome with sadness, he crosses the courtyard and embraces the statue. She remains resolutely on her pedestal as he weeps, clutching at her hips and begging her to breathe.

He is stilled by a hand in his hair. The marble has turned warm against his cheek, and when the statue shifts in his embrace he stumbles backwards.

Jo smiles at him, as warm and loving as he had imagined. She plucks at her skirts and looks down over the edge of her pedestal.

“Can you help me down?” she asks, and his heart stops at the sound of her voice, like bells and the crash of the ocean and the most perfect music. “First steps. I don’t want to fall.”

He wills his legs to go to her, and after a moment’s hesitation he is beside her. He takes her by the waist and lifts her down, and when she is safely on the ground she leaves her hands on his shoulders.

“Am I dreaming?” He asks as his eyes search her face. The roses on her cheeks and the warm honey of her eyes are beyond his wildest imaginings, and he hopes never to wake.

She laughs, and smiles, and new tears well up in his eyes. “No, Ash,” she reassures him, brushing away his tears with the back of her hand. “Aphrodite heard your prayer. She was so moved by your love for me that she wanted to end your loneliness.” She takes a step back and motions to her figure, draped in pale cloth and exactly as he created her. “Here I am.”

Ash opens his mouth to speak. He almost doesn’t ask, for fear of her answer.

“And, do you love me?”

She tilts her head and moves to stand before him again. Her hands are warm and soft when she cups his face, and her lips are impossibly sweet when she presses them to his own.

“Of course. All the love you had for me found my heart inside that stone. I have waiting for the day when I could show you how much I love you.”

He wraps his arms around her and holds her close. She smells sweet, and everything about her is soft and lovely and perfect. They stand together in the moonlight, holding each other and enjoying their love, and somewhere high up above, Aphrodite smiles.


End file.
